Real Snow
The dust stopped,
and it
snowed.
Real snow.
Dreamy Christmas snow,
gentle,
nothing blowing,
such calm,
like after a fever,
wet,
clinging to the earth,
melting into the dirt,
snow.
Oh, the grass, and the wheat
and the cattle,
and the rabbits,
and my father will be happy.
November 1934 - P97
<Dance Revue>
He doesn’t look at me like I’m a poor motherless thing. He doesn’t stare at my deformed hands. He looks at me like I am someone he knows, someone named Billie Jo Kelby. I’m grateful for that, especially considering how bad I’m playing.
December 1934 - P98